Illusion
by I Am Sweden
Summary: Shortly after Germany mysteriously disappears, Italy falls ill and new faces begin appearing. Left alone with China and America, Romano must set things right- before it's too late for them all. AU
1. Chapter 1

**Illusion**

**Prologue**

Another crack of thunder shook the house. Italy yelped and dropped to the floor in a ball. "I hate thunder!" he cried shrilly, covering his ears.

"Mr. Austria! The storm has blown over several trees on houses! We need you to-" the man was nearly blown away when the next ferocious gale hit. Austria and Hungary grabbed him and, after fighting hard against Mother Nature, successfully pulled him inside. Vases crashed to the floor and shattered when the gale swept inside Austria's home, tearing off curtains and making Hungary's skirt fly up. Italy cried out again, dashing further into the house, searching frantically for a place with no windows.

"I-Italy!" Holy Roman Empire burst in surprise when the crying boy nearly ran into him. Italy threw his arms around his neck, sobbing. "What's wrong!" he asked.

"The… the storm! It's terrible!" Another crack of thunder only made Italy's grip tighten, threatening to choke Holy Rome unless he did something quick. Gently, Holy Rome peeled Italy off of him and took his hand, blushing all the way.

"_Aah! Germany, Germany! This storm is terrrrribleeeeee!" Italy cried, running through his house searching for him. Finally, Italy burst into his office. Germany looked up from his paperwork to meet a frantic hug from Italy._

"_GET OFF!" he shouted, pushing the crying Italian away from him. "What is it, Italy?"_

"_The storm! I-it's _assolutamente terrible_!"_

_Germany sighed. Scratching his head in exasperation, he waved for Italy to follow him._

He led him downstairs to the basement. "I'll bring down some blankets so you won't be cold. There's a lamp over there, and there should some paint around here somewhere so you can keep yourself entertained."

Holy Rome turned to go back upstairs, but Italy caught his sleeve. "When you come back… will you stay down here with me? I… I don't like being alone."

The boy's cheeks went aflame. "A-ah, s-sure, I-Italy. I'll, ah, bring Austria and Hungary w-with me!"

"_This is Prussia's storeroom. Please refrain from meddling with his things. The light's over there. Here's a flashlight in case the power goes out," Germany said, anxious to get back and complete his over-due paperwork. And on top of that, Japan would be arriving any moment, and Germany had to be sure he meet him on time to hand him an umbrella._

_Italy grabbed his arm, his hands shaking. "D-don't just leave me down here alone!" he burst. Italy pulled his hands back, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please don't!"_

"_Italy…," Germany started. The blonde nodded. "Alright, alright. Japan und I will be back. Do you want me to bring some blankets?"_

_He attempted a smile and nodded. Germany returned a very awkward smile and hurried back._

Austria was not happy to be pulled down to the damp, cold basement, even if it was for poor Italy's sake. But he certainly would rather stay in the basement than help with repairs during the storm. The townspeople would be okay until the storm passed. He carried down several pillows for them (he knew Italy would eventually fall asleep, and if they tried to leave, he'd wake up, so a sleepover was unfortunately the way he was going to sleep tonight), while Hungary carried down the blankets.

Italy cowered in the corner by the light of a flickering lamp, wincing at every crack of thunder. Austria's face softened. "Italy?"

"Austria!" he cried happily, rushing over to help lay out the blankets. Italy's hands were still slightly trembling, but he was noticeably better now that they were present.

"Just for tonight!" Austria sternly told him. "We are not repeating this tomorrow night!"

"Ve~! Okay!"

Austria rolled his eyes (just to keep up appearances), cuing Hungary to chuckle. Holy Rome came down at last, precariously carrying a tray of snacks.

"_Grazie_, everyone," Italy beamed, sitting between Hungary and Austria.

_Italy perked up at hearing Japan's soft, accented voice. Germany let out an _oomph! _at the doorway, unable to see over his mountain of blankets and running into the doorframe. "So clumsy, West!"_

"_Prussia!" Italy cried happily, coming over to meet them. The dull-haired man grinned and ruffled Italy's hair as he passed. "I didn't touch a thing- _prometto_!"_

"_Eh… at least nothing's broken," he said upon seeing the evidence clearly on his once-dusty antiques. Prussia sat down against the wall, smiling at the thunder. "Don't know what you're so scared about, Italy. I like storms."_

_He blinked in shock, finding that highly unbelievable. "How can you possibly like them? They're scary! Loud thunder, lightning that catches things on fire, waters that flood-" Italy ended in a shudder. "That was an awful day in Venice…."_

"_Think of it this way, Italy," Japan proposed. "Thunder is a drum, signaling the flashes of sun through the clouds. It's a symbol that the storm is almost over."_

"_That's not true," he argued. "Thunder is a scary monster that comes out when lightning flashes."_

_Germany rolled his eyes and pushed a blanket in his face. "Calm down, Italy. Help us move some of this stuff so we can lay out the blankets."_

_While they set to work, Japan pointed out that they should have asked him to bring futons. Prussia snapped at Germany to be careful with his things- "That sword helped bring down Saxony himself!"- which cued Germany to irritably tell him to help instead of standing around fussing._

_Italy smiled the entire time. "_Grazie_!" he said once they sat on top of the blankets, opening up the obentos Japan had prepared._

"It's getting late," Austria announced, looking at his watch. "Let's all go to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day…. Italy, you sleep beside Hungary. Holy Rome, you're with me.

"What about changing into pajamas?" Holy Rome asked, nervous about sleeping in the same room as Italy and desperate to get away for a moment.

Austria shrugged. "I think the storm's died down a little. We'll go back." When Italy turned his best puppy-dog eyes on him, Austria added, "And then we'll come back. You aren't sleeping in that, are you two?"

Hungary grinned down at Italy, instantly grabbing the blankets to show he wasn't moving. "I think we'll be alright. Thank you, Mr. Austria."

Once they had disappeared upstairs, Hungary tucked Italy in. "Do you want a lullaby, Italy?"

He nodded enthusiastically. He had never heard Hungary sing, and he was sure she would sound beautiful. After all, she was a very pretty lady. "Alright. It's an old song from my country. _Hush kisbaba, nem szólt egy szót sem. Anya kap egy gúnyos madár. És ha ez gúnyos madár nem énekel…_"

"_Can we sleep down here, tonight?" Italy asked when several hours had passed. It had to be night outside the safe confines of Prussia's storeroom, and Italy wasn't willing to leave his haven anytime soon._

"_You are _not_ cuddling up to me," Germany said at once. But he sighed, caving in at Italy's puppy-dog eyes. "Fine, fine. We'll stay. Is that alright with you two?" he asked Japan and Prussia._

_Prussia's eyes lit up when he grabbed a pillow. "Fight to the death, anyone?"_

_Grinning evilly (which really freaked them out), Japan nodded. "I'll take you up on that offer."_

"_Yahoo!" Italy cried happily, bringing his pillow down hard on Germany._

"_Cut that out! Look what you did, Prussia!"_

_Prussia scoffed and ducked to avoid Japan's pillow. "Have a little fun, West! As if you didn't love pillow fights when you were a kid."_

_Germany scowled and hit Italy in the face. "Don't bring up any stories," he growled before Italy tackled him. "Honestly! Get off, Italy! I'll- oomph!"_

"_I beat Germany!" he crowed. "Who's next?"_

"_YOU DID NOT!" he roared, jumping up with pillow raised high._

"_WEST! DON'T TOUCH THE- MY SWOOOOOORD!'_

Just a few minutes had passed before Italy could tell Austria and Hungary were asleep. Austria, Italy had come to realize, liked to hum in his sleep sometimes, as if he were playing the piano in his dreams. Hungary didn't talk in her sleep, but she always had to cuddle something- in tonight's case, Italy. Holy Rome seemed to realize they were asleep as well.

"I-Italy?" he quietly whispered. Gently sliding out of Hungary's arms, Italy popped his head up over her shoulder. Holy Rome sat up, the blaze of red on his cheeks noticeable even in the dark. "I… I'm going to get some water. Do you… want to come with me?"

Italy opened his mouth to instantly reject the idea- but something held him back from doing so. The weird feeling that had settled over him the past few days had come back. Somehow… he felt like he should cherish what few moments with Holy Rome he had, because he felt like they would be their last together. And besides, it hadn't thundered in nearly an hour. Maybe the storm was… over?

The brunette nodded, carefully bundling up his side of the blanket in Hungary's arms so she wouldn't wake up and find her little Italy missing. "Okay," he answered softly. Holy Rome lit a candle, carefully shielding the flame from waking Austria and Hungary. Italy padded up after him into the silent, elegant house. Austria's paintings hung proud from the bright walls, their stern faces something Italy was well used to already. He wondered how long he had been with Austria now…. After Grandpa Rome died, everything was a blur for Italy. He didn't recognize his brothers at all anymore. The world had changed so much after Grandpa Rome's great reign.

Holy Rome had to pull over a chair in order to reach the cabinet where Austria had the glasses. "Do you want something to drink too, Italy?" he asked.

"Um, no thank you."

He shrugged. "Italy… I thought I should tell you…," Holy Rome started, distractedly pouring himself some water. He paused, rethinking what he just said. "Ah… well, you've noticed how the people have been treating Mr. Austria so poorly lately, haven't you?"

Remembering the impatient man from before and the mobs that had started crowding as of late, Italy solemnly nodded. Holy Rome sighed. "I… I may have to leave soon."

Italy's eyes widened in alarm. "What? But, Holy Rome, you can't! This is your home- if you go, where will Austria and Hungary and I go?"

"They… you'll go back home, Italy. You can be with Romano again and… and you won't have to be a servant anymore."

"I like it here! No, _amo questo luogo_! _Non si può andare, Santo Roma_!"

Holy Rome took his shoulders, startling Italy. "Shh, shh, don't cry, Italy. It's alright. We'll see each other again. Some day, when all this trouble is over, I'll come back to see you."

"_P-prometti_?" Italy asked, wiping his tears with his sleeve, still too shocked to revert back from Italian.

Holy Rome nodded. "I promise."

"_Ve~ That was so much fun! Let's do this again some time!" Italy declared, huffing for breath on the blankets spread on the floor. Germany smirked while Prussia let out a bellowing laugh. Japan, completely wiped out from the mini-war, was already asleep on a sloppily made futon. Italy put a finger to his lips, nodding at the sleeping Asian._

_Prussia quieted into a chuckle and ruffled Italy's hair. "Anytime you want, kiddo. I've got all the time in the world on my hands."_

"_That reminds me… I've been meaning to ask you something, Prussia."_

_He blinked in surprise. "Huh? Well, then, ask away."_

_Italy nervously looked at the ground. "How is it… that you're still here, if you're not a nation anymore?"_

_Prussia's smirk faded into seriousness. He too looked down at the floor. "Well… I'm not entirely sure on the details, but it's basically because West here wasn't about to let me fade. Somehow, him wanting me to stay actually made me not fade. I'm more like a memory than anything else at this point."_

"_Then can I ask you one last question?"_

"Then can I ask you one last question?" Italy quietly started, looking up at Holy Rome with an expression neither had seen before. "If, for some reason you can't come back, will you still promise to be my memory?"

"That's up to you, Italy," Holy Rome smiled, patting his head sadly.

"_You know where he is, right?"_

_Prussia looked up in shock. Slowly, he narrowed his crimson eyes. "…_Wen meinst du, Italien_?"_

((((()))))

"Holy Rome…."

Romano yawned, rubbing his eyes. "What, Veneciano?" he drowsily asked, looking over his shoulder at his sleeping brother.

Italy's face scrunched in his sleep. Again, he muttered, "Holy Rome… where are you?"

The older Italian's gaze softened. "He's gone, _mio fratello_. Long gone." Romano put the back of his hand to Italy's forehead. He frowned, pulling it back. "Still have your fever…. You get to stay in bed," he halfheartedly grumbled, getting out of bed, "while I have to go do your work for you. You'd better hurry and get well soon, Veneziano, or I'll kick your butt."

"Thank you, Romano."

Romano shrugged on his shirt and turned back to Italy. "Did I wake you?"

Italy shook his head the tiniest bit. "I was already half-awake, I think…."

"Can you eat some breakfast? I'll get that jerk Spain to fix you something. He needs to get off his lazy butt and do something around here anyway," Romano growled, marching towards the door.

"No thanks," Italy weakly called. Romano tightly nodded and softly shut the door behind him.

"Is he any better?" Spain asked the instant Romano emerged, anxiously wringing his hands.

Romano shook his head. "He didn't sleep a bit. He kept talking about thunderstorms, Prussia, and… Holy Rome. Veneziano said he didn't want any breakfast, but I want you to fix him something anyway. He hasn't eaten in a while."

Spain nodded, turning off to the kitchen. But he lingered, a smile creeping up on his face. "_Eres un buen hermano_. Italy must be glad to have someone like you taking care of him."

"I'm all he's got since Macho Potato disappeared," Romano sighed. "Geez. If that _idiota_ got himself sick over him, I'll… never mind. Get to cooking, jerk."

_A good brother? I'm terrible. I can't console him in the least…._ Santo Roma, _you and _la patata stupido_ had better come back soon, or else he _won't _get better._

**Well, that was a myriad of different languages. Hungary's song was **_**Hush Little Baby**_**, and the rest should be pretty easy to figure out. If you don't know what it means, ask me in a review or PM.**

**ALSO! This story is going to be updated at crappy intervals due to Alleluia's schedule and my school work. This is basically being written on the side while I'm sorting through the plot bunnies my other fics have.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

"Spain! You idiot, don't you know how to keep the phone on the hook? I can't find the stupid thing!"

"Check on the couch! Belgium was using it yesterday when she came to visit," the Spaniard called helpfully from the kitchen. Romano grumbled an unintelligible insult under his breath, ducking down to look under the ancient pale red couch. Romano couldn't understand why Spain had so adamantly wanted to give his old rotting furniture to him. It didn't matter if Romano had clumsily spilt tomato juice on the side, creating a "valuable memory". It was stupid. Why did he want to Romano to remember his screw ups in the past?

_Because… that had been the day Veneziano came home, hadn't it? _Romano paused his frustrated search, sitting up and putting his elbows on the couch. He eyed the stain distastefully. _I was so stunned to see Italy that I accidentally dropped my drink. Even with all the scrubbing Spain did, it never came out._

At the sound of Spain's footsteps on the white marble flooring, Romano quickly dropped back to the floor, putting on his best irritated expression. "I can't find it. How am I supposed to call Japan if I can't find the phone? You idiot. You lost it, didn't you?"

His nervous laugh was all the evidence Romano needed. As he jumped up, ready to start reprimanding him, Romano found the reproof swallowed down. "Well, whatever. Help me look. Veneziano wanted to talk to him."

"I talked to Prussia this morning," Spain softly started, helping him look on the floor. After sneezing at dust, Spain continued. "He wanted France and me to help him look for Germany."

"Then go," Romano muttered, turning direction to look behind the grand bookcase.

"But, won't you need my help to take care of Italy?"

The Italian scowled. "I'll be fine. I'll force him to eat some tomatoes or something. Besides, if Japan is up to it, I'll bring him over for reinforcements. Go help Prussia."

Romano's eyes lit up as they locked on the phone crammed between the cushions of another antique loveseat. "I found it. Get off the floor, I just mopped it the other day. Geez, muddying up my hard work…. Hurry and pack. I want you out of the house before you screw up anything else."

"I'll be sure to call, alright? Remember to water the tomatoes- oh, and send some to Belgium and Netherlands, okay?" Romano rolled his eyes as Spain droned on, reminding him of the most _obvious _things. Of course he wouldn't forget to close the gate after feeding the bulls! What kind of idiot did Spain take him for? "Ah! One more thing, Romano."

Sighing testily, Romano turned. "What?"

With a serious expression darkening Spain's emerald eyes, he said, "If I don't call after a week, don't send anyone looking for us. I don't want any other countries disappearing on our account. We'll make it back eventually, _sí_?"

_Eventually? Germany has been missing for weeks. I'm surprised Prussia hasn't tore through the house yet, checking to see if I was holding his little brother hostage or something stupid like that. _But Prussia had called- multiple times- worried out of his pretty little head, demanding to know if they knew anything. He stopped calling when Romano had finally yelled at him for waking up Italy while he was so sick. Then he had demanded to talk to Italy, reducing his little brother into worried tears over his best friends.

Romano was seriously peeved with Prussia. Actually, he hated _all _of those pesky potato-loving Germans in the north. Germany and Prussia had always annoyed him to death, corrupting his poor brother like that. But Italy, for a reason Romano would never know, had practically declared Germany and Prussia part of the family. He couldn't very well kick their butts then, could he? Besides, Spain was practically a father to the Italians, despite how much he got on Romano's nerves. If Romano could stand him, he could get over the Beer-Brothers.

Then again…. "Alright, alright. I'll just leave you fools to wander around. Serves you right, anyway."

Spain smiled and ruffled his hair- in the very same manner that Romano had told him _again and again_ not to do. "I'll go check on Italy before I go. _Ser un buen chico, de acuerdo_?"

"I'm not a kid anymore," Romano grumbled, waving him off. "Hurry back. Don't bring that stupid German back with you, if you find him."

_Because I'll kill him for making Veneziano worry. Maybe I'll shove one of his foul potatoes down his throat…._

Spain disappeared upstairs, his sickeningly bright attitude not once fading. As Romano flipped through Italy's address book for Japan's number, he wondered why he was stuck being friends with the weirdoes. Spain, with his impossibly happy-go-lucky attitude, and Netherlands, whom Romano basically wanted to strangle because of how rude he was to Spain and himself. Belgium was okay- but she treated him like a little kid still. Honestly- he was a grown man! Living on his own (with Spain popping up from time to time to deliver crates of wonderful tomatoes), taking care of his brother- he was _not _a child anymore.

The phone rang several times- at least seven, Romano counted, until Japan finally picked up. "_Moshi moshi_?" The Asian sounded tired himself- no doubt having been interrogated by Prussia as much as they had been. "Italy?"

"No, it's Romano. I'm calling for him."

Japan's voice grew worried. "Is he well? I apologize for not visiting, things have been very tiring…."

"He's… not getting worse," Romano said, trying his best to be honest and sugary at the same time. Japan was someone sensible, someone who actually could handle the truth, no matter how awful. But he was also one of Italy's dearest friends. He heard Japan let out a sigh. "But he was anxious to talk to you. If this isn't a good time, I'll just call you back later-"

"_Iie, _it's fine." Japan paused to listen to another voice in the background, harsh and angry. "_Watashi wa mō dekinai_! _Watashi wa kare no jōtai de Itaria o hanareru koto ga dekinai koto o kare ni iu_. Romano, I apologize, it seems I won't be able to speak with Italy. May I come to visit instead?"

Spain poked his head around the corner, giving him a thumbs up. Romano let out a silent exhale of relief. "_Sicuro_, you can come whenever you want. I'll tell Veneziano right away."

"_Dōmo arigatōgozaimashita_, Romano."

He quickly hung up, no doubt to face whoever had been yelling before. Romano answered Spain's question before he even asked- "Things aren't going so well at his place either. I've never seen him snap back at someone before…."

"Apparently the whole world is falling apart," Spain figured, shouldering a bag he must have packed earlier. "I'll call first thing tomorrow, _sí_?"

"We just had this conversation, _idiota_!" Romano shouted, pushing him towards the door. "You're probably late, as usual. Hurry up and go already!"

"See you, Romano!"

The Italian slammed the door behind him. "Stupid."

Romano lingered at the door for a minute, making a mental list of what Spain had told him to remember. _Water tomatoes. Be nice to Netherlands if Belgium brings him over. Don't call if they should disappear too- _Like heck he was going to sit and do nothing if those three didn't call back! He'd leave right that instant to drag those sorry bums back home, with or without Macho Potato. Unless he was in trouble too. Romano would save him, making him indebted to him, and for the rest of his life, Romano would rub it in Germany's face that he had to be saved by an Italian. This was turning out to be a marvelous plan…. Even better than the grenade Romano sent Germany for his birthday and the ridiculing mustache he pulled out during the war! Unfortunately, both had backfired, as Romano had forgotten to set the grenade and Germany had said the mustache appeared to be on him when he held it out.

But this would be a good plan. Romano was absolutely sure.

((((()))))

_Let's review this one more time. Hello, my name is Heilrich. I was wondering if this is the home of Italy. You mean… you're Italy? I…_

The blonde groaned, palming himself. "What was I supposed to say…. Yes! _I wanted to let you know that you are a very beautiful woman._ Classic romance. She'll remember me for sure."

Heilrich took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. As he turned on the corner, coming face to face with Italy's home, a rough voice cruelly shouted, "We just had this conversation, _idiota_! You're probably late, as usual. Hurry up and go already!" The brunette turned with a smile- _Why are you smiling if he just yelled at you?_- and said his farewell to the young man named Romano.

Romano… why was that name familiar?

Suddenly, while Heilrich was still standing in shock in the middle of Italy's walk, the Spaniard turned and took off sprinting, slamming into him. "_Lo siento_!" he burst, immediately jumping up to his feet and reaching his hand out. "Are you okay? Wait! I'm in a hurry! _Adiós_!"

"H-hey!" Heilrich burst indignantly, standing up. "That wasn't very polite! I can only imagine the treatment Italy is getting here! Don't worry, I'm coming!"

Heilrich valiantly ran to the front door, passing various sculptures and colorful flowers. He grabbed the gilded door handle and swung it open wi-

The door.

It was locked.

"Darn it, that Romano man must be Italy's new master. She can't be left alone in a house like this! Open up! Open up, I say!" Heilrich demanded, banging on the door. Right as he was about to start tackling it, or to pull out his gun and start shooting, the door opened.

Heilrich's breath froze in his throat as the brunette glared at him from within. The curl… was wrong. The eyes were amber, not hazel. This… was Italy's brother. Heilrich recognized him in an instant, but before he could say anything at all, to demand to see Italy that instant, to ask who that terrible man from before was- Italy's brother gaped.

For the second time that morning, Heilrich was stunned into silence. Italy's brother quickly shut his mouth, the glare coming back much harsher. "YOU DARNED POTATO EATER!" he roared, sounding just like the man from before- _wait a minute, _that _was Italy's brother?_- and grabbed Heilrich by the front of his suit. "What the heck do you think you're doing, disappearing for weeks, making your stupid brother worry like that, and then appearing out of nowhere trying to break down _mio fratello porta_ like a crazed maniac! I'm going to kill you!"

"Romano, he… he's gone… isn't…."

Heilrich, who was about to pull out his gun to ward off Romano, who had to have been utterly confused; and Romano, ready for Germany's blood; both turned to look inside.

Italy's home was beautiful, bright, and airy. The floor was white marble- so clean, Heilrich could see his and Romano's reflections. The walls were a light mint green, almost every inch covered in paintings and photographs. Antique and modern furniture scattered the living room. To the left of the magnificent living room was an open, inviting kitchen, fully stocked (and running over) with tomatoes, the ingredients for pasta, and hundreds upon hundreds of sweet candies and other snacks.

But Heilrich looked past the house's interior at the young man standing at the foot of a staircase. He was dressed in a pair of warm pajamas and wrapped in a fleece blanket, as if it were winter instead of summer. His hair was just like Romano's, but the curl was on the other side and it was a tad lighter. His hazel eyes were dull, as if he were feverish, but his face was round and kind. Romano dropped hold of his shirt. As the boy's eyes fluttered, Romano ran to catch him as he fell. "Veneziano!" he cried.

Heilrich took a cautious step inside, his wide-eyed reflection gaping up at him. Romano knelt down to the floor, muttering worried, flustered Italian to Veneziano. _The appearance is just right, but… could Italy have had _two _brothers?_

"What were you thinking, getting out of bed? You're too weak for that!" Romano burst, quickly sliding his arms under his back and knees. "If you needed something, you should have just called!"

Completely having forgotten Heilrich's existence, Romano marched upstairs, carrying his brother's limp form. He had converted back to Italian, sounding more and more caring with each word. It was like Romano had transformed into another person entirely. "And you're too light! Y-you have to start eating more, Veneziano! If you don't…."

_He… can't be Italy. Italy was a girl working for Austria in my house…. I loved her. _Her._ This… must be the wrong house. Romano called me Germany… I don't know who Germany is. This can't be Italy's house._

Heilrich slowly backed up, shaking his head. "That can't be Italy…."

_No! I-I've been searching for years, had to fight so hard to find her- Italy has to be here somewhere! She… I promised! I'd come back for her!"_

"Shut the door, the draft is only going to make him worse."

Heilrich almost yelped in surprise, looking up at Romano. "Well? You wanted in so bad, and if you were really Germany, you'd be carrying him, not me. Shut the door and sit down on the couch. And don't get mud on the floor!"

"Y-yes, sir," Heilrich stuttered, trying to see the man he was carrying, but Romano narrowed his eyes and turned around the corner. The blonde swallowed hard and slipped off his shoes. They weren't muddy, as Heilrich had taken the utmost precautions to look his absolute best when he met Italy again, but he had already seen Romano's wrath once for the day. Heilrich felt bad for this Germany, whoever he was, for having to put up with him.

But Romano had said Germany was missing, that he had disappeared and had worried his brother…. Could that have been why the man from before had been in such a hurry? Maybe he was Germany's brother, rushing off to find him.

Heilrich was beginning to feel like Romano hated everyone except for his brother. Somehow, this didn't make him feel any more comfortable. Instead of sitting on the couch vulnerable, Heilrich walked around, looking at paintings signed by Italy. Her work was all over the place- but where was she? Because… that couldn't have been….

_D-don't think about that,_ Heilrich thought, spinning on his heel to peek into the kitchen. _Just ask Romano. Nicely._

The kitchen was in perfect order and smelled like freshly baked bread and tomatoes. Assorted wines sat in a rack on the back wall beside a grand dining table set for two. The sink held dirty dishes- from breakfast, Heilrich supposed- but otherwise, everything seemed perfect.

It reminded Heilrich of Austria and his strict cleanliness policy. It had been such a long time since he had last seen Austria and Hungary. They were the only ones who had stuck with him through thick and thin.

Heilrich quickly went back to the couch when Romano finally came back down stairs. His caring, brotherly face was practically nonexistent again when he narrowed his amber eyes at Heilrich. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I-I'm Heilrich Beilschmidt and… I was looking for Italy. But I think I've got the wrong house, so-"

"No," Romano sighed, sitting down in a grand armchair across from him, "this is Veneziano's house alright. I'm Romano, his brother. Pleasure to meet you. Now why the heck were you trying to break into the house to see my brother?"

_No. Not that word. That's a _bad word_!_

"A-are you sure there isn't a woman named Italy around here?" he squeaked.

Romano's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Then, he erupted in giggles. "A woman? Oh oh! That's the greatest thing I've ever heard! Man, I wish he would have heard that. I've never met a more girlier man than Veneziano! Sitting around painting all day, inviting his 'best friends' over for pasta- Veneziano is such a sissy. I'm pretty sure you have the right person."

_Then… it may be possible. NO! Argh, shut up shut up shut up! She was wearing a _dress_, for the love of all that is good! Unless… Austria…._

Heilrich groaned, putting his face in his hands. "My entire life has been a lie," he muttered. "Austria is a fool."

Romano chuckled. "_Sì, lui è_. But you never told me, _Heilrich_, why you're looking for _mio fratello_, or why you thought he was female."

Heilrich's mouth went dry. Romano wasn't supposed to know that. Instead, he asked, "What's wrong with Italy?"

At first, Heilrich thought Romano was about to jump and strangle him, but he only let out a ragged sigh. "He's sick. Terribly, terribly sick. I don't know what he has, but his temperature has been close to hitting forty Celsius for a solid week now. He's been delusional, too. Talking about Germany this, Holy Rome that…."

Romano closed his eyes, lips forming a hard line. "We have to find Germany. Veneziano worrying over him is only making him worse."

_Sick… talking about Germany and… and _Holy Rome_…. _"I can't believe this…," Heilrich muttered. "How did Germany disappear?" _Italy will get better if I find him, so…._

Italy's brother shrugged. "No one knows. Prussia called a few weeks ago- actually, that was when Italy first got a fever- saying he was missing, demanding to know if we knew anything about it. Actually… you _do _look a lot like him…."

Suddenly, Romano smiled. Heilrich gulped when the smile widened as he got up and walked over to him. "I will pay you. I swear. If you pretend to be Germany, just for one day for Veneziano, I will pay you whatever you want."

"Wh-what? How could you trick him like that?"

"Do you know how hard it is to watch him get worse everyday?" Romano spat. Heilrich shied back. "Germany is practically all he talks about. He's worried sick over him- to the point that he won't get better, won't hardly eat a thing- he even turned down pasta! He won't know the difference, but he'll get better anyway! _Per favore_, Heilrich!"

In short, today was not going according to Heilrich's plans. The blonde frowned, but Romano was desperate. He had the feeling that Romano only opened up like this when it was life or death- and if Italy took a turn for the worse….

_Even if… I completely thought wrong, we were still best friends. He was there for me as much as I was there for him. I can't let him down now._

"Alright. I'll do it."

((((()))))

"You sure leaving Romano with the kid was a good idea?" Prussia nervously asked the second Spain arrived.

The brunette nodded. "He's been the perfect housemaid. Besides, he said he'd call Japan for help if he needed it. They're on good terms, more or less, and I know for a fact Romano would swallow his pride to help him."

France seemed just as worried for the Italian's health. After all, he was a big brother too. "…If you say so, _Espagne_. Prussia, where will we start?"

"America and Canada are checking over their way, so let's try down south," Prussia suggested. He seemed to be wilted, completely exhausted from endless searching and concern. But, just as always, there was that fire in his eyes that told his old friends he would _never _stop looking for Germany until he came back. "We'll check with the Balkans first and head east from there to Asia."

_And… after that we'll do Australia. The Pacific. Help America and Canada._

_West… where are you, kid?_

((((()))))

Heilrich almost couldn't stand to look at his face. The last time he had seen this face was a good three centuries ago- back when Italy was still a little gi- _no, boy,_ Heilrich reminded himself. _Honestly, Austria, you didn't even know his _gender_?_

Romano hovered at the doorway, frowning at his brother's state within. "Remember, you're Germany. You're big and buff and you like huge dogs and cake. But you don't admit it, because you're stupid."

"Uh, thanks?"

"Go!"

Heilrich stumbled upon being pushed into the quiet room. Everything about the situation screamed awkward- how was he supposed to react to the so-called "girl" he had once loved upon learning "she" was actually a "he" and was gravely ill? "I-Italy?" he asked, making his voice drop lower. Romano didn't yell out any complaints, so Heilrich figured he was doing well so far.

It took a brief glance before Italy quietly said, "You're not Him."

"Italy, o-of course I'm-"

The brunette offered him a weary smile. "I don't know who you are, but it was nice of you to-" an abrupt cough interrupted him. Romano ducked inside and grabbed a glass of water on a nightstand beside the bed. "_G-grazie_, Romano," Italy rasped, wilting back on his pillow. He shut his eyes tiredly, as if merely being awake was a difficult feat.

Romano looked even more stricken than before. "I'm sorry, Veneziano, I just…." The Italian swallowed hard and shook his head. "I'll bring you up some pasta and wurst in a little while. Heilrich-"

"But… you do look a lot like him," Italy started hazily. "You look a lot like Holy Roman Empire. But he's dead now…. France, h-he told me. Once he lost the Napoleonic wars. He came and told me Holy Rome wasn't coming back b-because-" another wracking cough cut him short, but Italy gasped and continued. "-because Napoleon… dissolved him. That's what's happening to me, isn't it, Romano? My half of the government is starting to fail, but you're okay because of the m-mafia."

"You're not going to die, Veneziano," Romano said lowly. No one in the room, including Romano himself, believed it. Italy's brother ducked his head and quietly left. Italy and Heilrich didn't say a word when he rubbed his arm across his eyes.

Italy himself didn't cry. He faintly smiled, closing his eyes once more. "For once… I'm really not afraid."

Heilrich swallowed hard. "Why is that, Italy?"

"Grandpa Rome and Holy Roman Empire are where I'm going," he said simply, his smile growing. "I'll… I'll get to be with them again…."

"I'm not going to let you leave so soon. I'm not just going to let you die like this. I'm going to find Germany," Heilrich swore valiantly, "and I'm going to find a way to save you."

Tears sprang to the Italian's eyes after he was gone, his smile widening despite everything.

_Prussia was right after all._


	3. Chapter 3

**Sooooooooo… um… awkward. Here I am picking up a fic I haven't touched in a year.**

**By the way, a lot of crazy happens in this chapter. Be warned that you're going to be some very confused readers for a while. And also be warned that since losing my previous flash drive back in March, I also lost a lot of the stuff for this fic I'd been working on, and thus I've probably forgotten some details that I had meant to be important. I'll make up for it, but it's still going to be confusing.**

**Sorry. But things will get better! I promise!**

**Chapter 2-**

Germany had never been a nation with many fears, and he'd always done well with sudden change and surprises- one had to be when they were as close to Italy as he was. Never had he been afraid of war, of death, or of dissolution. Never had he been afraid of such crippling loss.

Until now.

Everything had happened so suddenly for the blonde nation. It had been another normal afternoon spent in his office for the business he worked in as "Ludwig Beilschmit", staying later so he wouldn't have to go home and face whatever mess Prussia had made in the basement. Well, it wasn't particularly another normal afternoon, per se. Ludwig had just gotten a promotion and had received a personal visit from his boss asking him to be vice president.

After politely refusing (it was never good to have a position of power where people would directly notice he wasn't aging properly), Ludwig had packed up his briefcase and started on his way to catch the bus to take him home.

_That's _when things became abnormal.

It was always rare to see a fellow country away from their land, unless it was time for another horrendous world meeting. Sure, Italy and Japan frequented his house and Francis and Spain always randomly popped up at the door to drag Prussia out for some drinking or whatever it is the infamous trio did. America, dressed in an ancient Civil War uniform, standing in his front yard, was not normal.

"Come to see Prussia, I guess?" Germany had asked, with the slightest hint of wariness in his voice.

With a smile, America turned and tipped his gray hat with a wink. "Actually, I came for you this fine evenin'. One of my dear friends needs ta talk with you, you see. Since we can't keep him waiting, I'll hurry right along."

From under America's feet sprang a monochrome world, black and white and gray snaking its way over the grass, Germany's house, Prussia's "secret" garden in the back. Time seemed to stop with the sudden color change. The traffic stopped in mid drive, their engines silenced. Any chatter from the streets came to an abrupt end. Germany looked around in wonder to see everything just _frozen_. The birds, the people, the cars- nothing.

Before he could properly demand an explanation, America smirked again, laced with a kind of evil Germany _knew _was not from the America he had known for many years. Everything went black in Germany's mind, and he was out like a light.

What felt like mere seconds later, the mighty Germanic country had woken up to find himself looking up at a hazy, dark sky, perfectly and completely alone.

He _knew _he shouldn't have let Prussia and the Netherlands in the kitchen that morning! They had probably spiked his coffee with some weird substance, and now he was hallucinating. When he came to, Germany was going to ban his western neighbor from ever entering his country again and was going to put Prussia under house arrest for a month (he would've liked to make it a decade or two, but Prussia would have merely dug a tunnel to France when he started to get bored).

Shaking his head irritably, Germany picked himself off the barren ground and dusted off his khakis. The strange haze-induced world of his mind was not very vegetative at all. Small patches of grass littered the dry, earthy ground, and he thought he could see a few barren, craggy trees off in the distance. Germany crossed his arms and shouted, "America, unless this was my brother's fault or some crazy spell of England's, I'm going to throw you out a window at the next meeting. I'm thirty minutes late of feeding my dogs, and Prussia has most likely stained my carpets with his beer. So if you would kindly take me back home-"

"Wh-who are you?" a new, quiet voice piped up behind him. Germany turned at the soft French accent the girl had. If France, too, was involved in this mess…. The young girl wore a simple white dress to her ankles, made of cotton with no fancy designs or stitching. In fact, with the simple wooden cross she wore around her neck, she looked more like a fifteenth-century peasant girl-

Germany's first surprise had just arrived. "Who are _you?_" he demanded in turn, taking in her bobbed blonde hair with more apprehension. It had a few tangles here and there and- was that a piece of _hay _sticking out? Sure enough, she even smelled of farm land.

The girl looked him over a moment with such piercing pale blue eyes, just the slightest shade lighter than France's. Finally, she met his eyes. "I believe we need to find Rome and Germania."

((((()))))

Romano had his back turned to Heilrich as he furiously worked the dough before him, pausing every so often to quickly rub his arm across his eyes. Heilrich neglected to say anything, simply knowing that even the most harmless of comments would make him snap. So, in his own silent worry, Heilrich sat down in his previous chair, keeping watch of the stairs.

He hated being so useless. Why wasn't he up and out, looking for this Germany person? If finding him could make Italy better, why wasn't Heilrich already long gone?

Because his legs wouldn't move. His hands wouldn't unclench from the fists in his lap, and his eyes would not leave the stairs.

How on earth had this happened so fast? How had everything changed? Italy had barely been four feet tall, wearing a sweet, lacey maid's dress the last time Heilrich had saw her- _him_, he irritably corrected himself. Him. He still couldn't get over how utterly _stupid_ that stuffy man had been. Italy had sounded as girly as ever, being so young, but to think him a girl? And that woman always with him had dressed Italy up in her traditional clothes! Heilrich would have thought a woman could see the difference between a little girl and a little boy.

Apparently not. His crazy caretakers.

Heilrich sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose when a dull headache sprang forth. Those two… those two….

He snapped his head up.

He couldn't remember their names. Blind terror momentarily overtook him. _I-I…. They were there when we were kids- they lived in my house, under my rule…. No, that can't possibly be right. Why would two adults listen to a child like me? No! I'm sure they did! That woman was a maid like Italy, and the man was my tutor. He told me how to be a… a… what was I again? No child can be an empire. No child- or any other person- could be a country! Italy was simply a strange name! Romano, too! Obviously, their crazy Italian parents were so patriotic that they-_

"Oi, Muscles, you like pasta, right?" Romano's bland voice cut through his panic. The Italian frowned deeper. "Hey, you alright in there?"

"I-I'm fine," Heilrich mumbled back, attempting a totally unconvincing smile. "And yes, pasta is… pasta is fine."

Romano cocked an eyebrow but said no more. With a tired huff and a weary shrug, he dropped the newly stretched and cut pasta into a boiling pot and started on the sauce. Heilrich focused on Romano's careful slicing instead of the flurry in his mind. Seeing Italy had just been a shock, he assured himself. All this reunion and revelation business had simply thrown him for a loop, there.

The fresh scent from the tomatoes wafted into the living room, involuntarily bringing a real smile to Heilrich's face. It had been so long since he'd last tasted Spanish tomatoes. About three hundred years, his mind calculated.

"'_Tonio, man, I don't know _how _you do it, but these tomatoes are just delicious. You and that Romano kid grew them, right? Hey, kiddo, try one of these sandwiches. I bet they're way awesomer than Austria's smelly food, kesesese!"_

Heilrich visibly flinched at that, his hands flying to grip the chair's arms. That tall man with snow white hair and crimson eyes- he was so _familiar_. Heilrich knew him better than his tutor and his maid. Maybe even better than Italy! Together, Heilrich and that albino had fought side-by-side on countless battlefields as the centuries passed. Even when he became a state out of an order, and later a full-fledged nation with Heilrich's help, he had always been so strong, had always looked out for Heilrich as if he were his little brother. Although he didn't look it, Heilrich was older than this man. He had just… gotten taller and older looking while Heilrich hadn't.

All of them had. His tutor, the blonde man who could never be caught without a gun, the quiet girl with bright blue eyes and thin braids. All of the people Heilrich had known as children had suddenly gotten older- and he hadn't.

He remembered being told by somebody that it was because he wasn't strong on his own. Without his subjects, he was nothing. Religious reforms and revolutions for independence had made separated his people.

But that was crazy, Heilrich half-heartedly argued with himself. He wasn't some… _empire._

Heilrich felt his eyes stray back to the staircase. Italy would know for sure. They had known each other since they were in diapers, taken care of by their respective grandfathers. Heilrich had always looked up to Italy's grandfather. He was such a strong man, owning many lands and having so much power…. Power that Heilrich had always pined after.

His headache erupted into a full-blown migraine. He doubled over, hissing in pain. After a moment it faded, but it had left Heilrich with an assurance that something was terribly wrong with him_. _Stumbling to his feet, Heilrich slowly made his way to the staircase, blocking out Romano's surprised shout.

_Italy… Italy's the only one who can help me._

"What do you think you're doing? You're not going in there and disturbing Veneziano's rest! Hey, listen to me, would you? HEY!" Lovino furiously buzzed into his ear, grabbing his arm and planting his feet on the ground. Heilrich easily pulled him along. "WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?"

"I have to know the truth! I can't remember anything except for Italy! That means he has to know something about me, right? Two questions isn't going to make him any more worse than he is already!" Heilrich stopped dead in tracks, his shout echoing in his head. What was that? That harsh, bitter reply? He didn't sound like that, and he certainly _did _care about Italy's wellbeing!

_Why should I care about him? The only thing he ever does is streak across my yard._

Heilrich clutched his head, trying his best to keep his cry of pain inside.

Romano stared wide-eyed at him a moment, just as confused as Heilrich was. Before anything could be said, Romano reared his arm back and slammed his fist into Heilrich's face. The blonde man barely stumbled, but his nose definitely felt the blow. The swirling thoughts in his head dissipated, replaced with anger. "What in the world was that for?" Heilrich demanded, pressing his sleeve to his nose to catch the blood.

"That? THAT? You're only standing in the middle of my hallway going freaking _insane_, and you're asking me why I freaking _punched you?_" Romano shrilly burst, throwing his arms up.

The Italian grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to his shorter level. "Listen here. One more stunt like that, and I'm emptying a round into your head. I only let you into my home because I thought you'd be good for Veneziano. Since that plan obviously isn't working, I have no reason to keep you here. You're obviously not a country and you don't look like a government official to me. That means you're free game, my friend. I'm the country of the _mafia. _Don't get me angry."

The image of a taller, buffer Romano entered Heilrich's mind. This Romano had the barest hint of a stubble growing on his chin, and he was dressed head to toe in Roman armor. Heilrich narrowed his eyes, seeing Romano in a new light. He looked just like-

Almost instantly, every inch of Romano's threatening demeanor faded into terror. "I'm only trying to keep my _fratellino _safe so don't hit me!" he literally _squeaked _out, jumping back about a foot. "I'm sorry for threatening you and I swear I'll never touch you again, _sì? _Just please don't hit meeeee!"

"I-I won't!" Heilrich stuttered out. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I just… I don't even know, okay? Just calm down, stop crying, go back to making your pasta. You're a good brother. Italy must be glad to have someone like you taking care of him."

"A-alright, I'll just…," Romano's voice trailed off. He looked up uncertainly. "What did you just say?"

Heilrich blinked. "I-I don't know. What _did _I just say?"

"You just said…." The Italian shook his head, thinking himself insane. Maybe Heilrich's crazy was contagious, and he had just infected himself by punching him. Romano slowly shook his head. "N-never mind. I'll fix dinner and… and then we'll figure all this out. Just… keep away from Veneziano, okay? _Per favore?_"

"…Ja. Ja, I'll… leave him alone. Sorry."

Romano merely shook his head again, spinning on his heel to head back downstairs.

_Japan had better get here soon, darn it. I can't handle a sick Veneziano _and _a crazy Germany-clone at once._

((((()))))

France was growing more concerned the further they got in their travel. They were driving at break-neck speed in Spain's red truck, stopping at every nation's house. They would instantly feel a fellow nation pop up, thus knowing if Germany had been around.

Perhaps it had just been their harrowing welcome into Switzerland, but Prussia seemed… different than usual, France noticed. It was nearly impossible to tell when an albino had gone pale, but over the years, France had learned to detect when his friend was feeling under the weather. By the way his lips had lost color, he could tell this was one of those times. "Spain, pull over a minute," France said, ignoring Prussia's indignant cry. With a confused blink, the Spaniard complied.

Ignoring both Spain and Prussia's question/demand, France slapped the back of his hand to Prussia's forehead. "You're running a fever," the blonde reported uneasily, slowly drawing his hand back. "You haven't been around Italy, have you?"

Prussia rolled his eyes. He puffed out his scrawny chest and plastered a smirk to his face. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Francy-Pants. I'm too awesome to get sick! Come on, 'Tonio, let's get this show on the road."

"Don't touch those keys!" France snapped, effectively making Spain freeze. He turned back to Prussia with a scowl. "_Mon ami_, you know how bad Italy is right now. What if you too are reduced to such a state? Without Germany, you might just fa-"

"I said," Prussia interrupted in a clipped voice, his face darkening into a glare, "that I'm _fine. _Spain. Start the truck."

Spain did no such thing. He worriedly leaned past France, putting a hand to Prussia's forehead himself. "You _are _running a fever. How about you go home and rest up while France and I look for Germany?"

There was a stunned silence as Prussia flickered crimson eyes between their faces. France's lips turned downward into a frown. If Prussia thought he could get sick on their watch, he had another thing coming. France and Spain could be just as stubborn as him when they set their mind onto something.

Spain opened his mouth to spew the greatest best friend speech given, but an annoying, fast-approaching keening made him pause. France tossed a look over his shoulder. He let out a French curse. "Antoine, you parked in the middle of an intersection!" he fussed. "We're holding up traffic and the police are coming!"

The brunette began to panic. "I can't get another ticket! Romano will kill me! The last time I had to go to court, he had to drive me, and he yelled at me the entire way there! And since Italy can't drive me and you two are going to get in trouble too-"

"Hey!" Prussia finally interjected, eyes worriedly snapping away from the back windshield to glare at Spain. "I can't be blamed for this! This is all France's fault-"

"Mine? How is it my fault? Antoine's the one who stopped the car!"

A sharp rap on the window ceased the trio's bickering. With a gulp, Spain rolled down the window. He melted with relief to see the officer was a woman- a woman that didn't look as though she ever got much romantic action. Before she could speak, Spain blurted out, "Bad Touch Trio escape plan 34!"

Immediately, France leaned over and planted his lips on the officer's, scrunching her hair and pausing every so often to whisper something in French. Spain and Prussia gave each other a wicked grin. After a moment, France pulled back with a seductive smile. The woman, dazed, pulled out her notepad and scribbled away. She ripped it off and handed the paper to France. "Please… call me," she murmured, turning away.

"_Au revoir!_"France called back, blowing her a kiss. He pocketed the woman's phone number and nodded to Spain. "Thank you, _mon ami_. We may now proceed as planned to Belgium. America and Canada should be getting off their flight any minute now, no?"

((((()))))

As the Bad Touch Trio drove off again, cheekily grinning to each angry driver that passed them, Prussia turned up the radio. He smiled grimly to himself as Spain and France started belting out garbled lyrics. They certainly were not helping the headache that had popped up in Prussia's head, but they had forgotten why they had stopped in the first place.

He couldn't just stop his search on account of him getting a cold. Switzerland had had a cough, but he had still been able to kick them out of his country, hadn't he? And since Prussia was elevunty-gazillion times awesomer than the stuffy blonde would ever hope to be, his little headache was obviously nothing. He blamed the former nausea he felt on Spain's erratic driving. Prussia really had no doubt in his mind that Spain held an impressive record of tickets. He had gotten Italy and Romano to teach him how to drive, after all.

And that got Prussia to thinking. Why the heck were they letting him drive, anyway?

((((()))))

Germany had been more than a little stunned to see the town Jeanne D'Arc had led him to. The expansive town looked as if a thousand ancient cultures had mashed together. An ancient Greek amphitheatre was built next to a set of Native American teepees. The blonde paused, slightly agape. Jeanne also stopped. "This is the End of Time, Monsieur. Many older countries and civilizations are here as well. History allowed them to bring their architecture, and many other things, with them."

The nation slowly shook his head, closing his mouth in an attempt to regain the suave façade he'd put up. "But… this is _impossible. _How can something like this exist? And if this is… is a resting place for the nations, why are you and I here?"

"Oh," Jeanne said in surprise. "I'm not the only human. Rome's Julius Caesar is here, Native America's Pocahontas and Sacagawea, Kiev Rus's Yaroslav the Wise…." Jeanne's voice trailed off as she shrugged. With a small smile, the saint waved him forward. "I'm not sure why you're here, Monsieur, but Rome and Germania will know. They were elected leaders."

Germany swallowed hard, all of the rational explanations in his head falling flat.

He wanted to go back home and greet the disasters there more than ever.


End file.
